Aftermath of an Angel Fall
by Scare4irony
Summary: Post S8 - S9 (AU). The angels have fallen - but that's the least of Dean's worries. Multiple POV's. Limp!Sam, Protective!Dean. Chapter 7 - Gun drawn, he shouldered his way into Kevin's bedroom where the prophet was glaring at the closet. Correction, not at the closet. At the figure leaning casually against the closet
1. 10 Minutes

AN: I immediately began writing this after the finale. Most of it is pretty finished but I keep adding chapters to it. This is speculative season 9 as in I do not know anything about season 9, I've kept myself spoiler free and I intend to keep it that way. Self imposed deadline...hopefully I'll finish before you lucky state-siders get to watch the awesomeness that is Supernatural season 9. Thanks to MissMe13 for beta-ing :)

* * *

_**10 MINUTES AFTER THE ANGELS BEGAN TO FALL**_

The angels, they're falling…

Sam gasped again, struggling to take in a breath and drew Dean's attention away from the night sky. "De'n…" he wheezed. Curling onto his side sent a spike of pain through his body. He felt strong hands running down his arms, nestling around his back and his chest, dragging him up.

"I gotta get you home, Sammy. Just hold on, little brother."The words were spoken quietly and with assurance, Dean's breath puffing onto his cheek. Even though they were caked in mud, drenched in rain and, in his case, sweat, he wanted to stay for some inexplicable reason. The sky shining as the angels fell, as horrible as it seemed, was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. "Sam, c'mon you giant, I need some help. Just a few steps, kiddo."

Sluggishly, he stepped towards the car, feeling pain radiating through his legs and settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. His stomach rolled and he didn't have time to warn Dean as bile filled his mouth and spilled onto the rain-sodden ground. The acid burned his throat, adding another level to his discomfort and shit, death would have been pleasant right about now. He groaned in pain, couching forward with Dean rubbing soothing circles on his back. Right…Dean; the reason why death wasn't an option… goddamn him. After one last dry heave, he spat out the remaining saliva and wiped his mouth.

"Shit!" Dean cursed. The metallic taste in his mouth meant that Dean probably sawred staining his chin. "Sammy...I gotta get you to a hospital." Dean hauled him the last few steps to the car and placed gingerly into the passenger seat. He curled in on himself, head resting against the cool glass windows, noting that the surface had suddenly fogged up. Wow, so that was kind of cool; he was a walking radiator.

The tires screeched as the surface changed from gravel to asphalt. Sam watched Dean stare hard at the road, sparing glances in his direction every few minutes. "I don' wanna go…" he breathed, clutching his stomach "...I - no hospital." Another wave of pain washed over him, his body spasming as he lurched forwards, hands clutching the dashboard. It was as if he didn't have the strength to even yell anymore, his body letting out whimpers and low groans instead.

Panic raced through Dean. "Sam! Man, I gotta take you. I don't know what's happening in your body...shit, I don't even think we've got enough pain meds to get you under control."

Maybe he was dying. Maybe there wasn't an either-or about it and not completing the trials had secured his death. If so, he sure as hell didn't want to die in a hospital. They finally had a home and if he was going to die, then he damn well better die in it. He watched Dean frantically drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, brows creased in worry and mouth set into a grim line. "Please," he gasped, chest heaving as he fought to breathe. Blindly, he dropped a hand from the dash, his fingers searching for Dean. When he found Dean's knee, he gripped it with as much strength as he could and begged again, giving a little shake.

Tentative fingertips brushed against his hand and then Dean's warm, calloused palm covered his hand briefly, squeezing back. "Okay, just stay with me, I promise S-" Dean's voice broke. He didn't like it when Dean cried. "Sammy, I promise alright? See, you gotta stay with me now. I promise no hospitals." He felt Dean's hand squeeze his tighter, desperate for him to stay awake. He managed to slump back into the seat, head lolling to Dean's side. He gritted his teeth, feverish eyes taking in Dean's profile which was illuminated by the still falling angels.

"Thanks. I'm get'n sleepy De-" He managed softly as Dean swam out of vision, one lone streak of light falling in front of his vision before darkness claimed him and his hand slipped from Dean's knee.

**_?_?_**

"Sam! Crap, Sammy wake up!" Dean yelled. He grabbed Sam's wrist, his skin, still hot to the touch and felt around for a pulse. For a few irrational moments, he swore he would drive the Impala off the road and crash it if he couldn't find a beat. Life without Sam was not an option and something he probably would never verbalize to said brother for the sole fact that it was the ultimate end-zone of chick-flick moments. With his fingers still pressed into Sam's wrist, he let out the breath he had been holding; the sluggish thrum of blood still running through his veins was good enough for him to let go. At least for now.

**_?_?_**

Forgive me Father…

All Castiel could offer was a litany of silent apologies as he watched his brothers and sisters being cast down from above. He had single-handedly destroyed Heaven, practically offering the paradise on a silver platter for Metatron to take, no questions asked because he just wanted everything to be right again. His own reign over heaven had killed thousands, blackened shadows of angel wings littering the expanse of Heaven with bodies lying there and faces frozen in shock. He had been unrelenting, unrepentant and oh-so-very blind. But this? This was...unimaginable…

At least when he went crazy, there were still angels in heaven, as unsure and afraid as they were. Now there was just one, driven by revenge and an unhealthy thirst for story.

He would have gladly settled for being cast down alone, tortured, killed.

Anything but this.

Alone, with tears still falling from his eyes, his first night as a proper human was spent with his neck craned upwards. He brought his knees to his chest, feeling the cold wet ground squelching under his weight and leaning with his back against a tree. He watched the lights fall to earth, even as his eyes started to close from exhaustion, he wouldn't allow for it but then again, he was human…

...and all humans need their sleep.

* * *

AN: Hope you enjoy, would love to hear your thoughts :) Hopefully I'll be able to update quickly...depends on, well life. But as I said, hope you enjoyed it :)


	2. 4 Hours

AN: Again, just a reminder that this is speculative season 9 as in I do not know anything about season 9 - and with all the tid-bits being released I think we can safely say that this story is heading to AU territory. Thanks to MissMe13 for beta-ing :)

* * *

_**FOUR HOURS AFTER THE ANGELS FELL**_

"Finally," Dean muttered, pulling the Impala just in front of the Batcave's door. Sam hadn't moved a muscle since passing out, leaving Dean with hours of silence and a thudding chest when Sam's chest movement was so slight it appeared as if he was not breathing. Placing a palm against Sam's neck, he swore at the heat radiating from his body and shook his brother's bony shoulder. No response. Huffing out a breath, Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders, mindful of his height as he got Sam out of the car. "Fine princess, we're only doing this your way because you're unconscious."

As he approached the door, the sounds of alarms were blaring. Propping Sam against his body, he banged on the door so hard that he was sure his knuckles would be bruised in a few hours. When there appeared to be no sign of Kevin coming to greet them, he cursed. Sam let out a groan, his head dropping until it was just under Dean's chin, knees slightly bent in an attempt to stand.

"De'."

Brushing sweaty bangs away from Sam's forehead, he shuffled them closer to the door. "Shh. I know, Sammy."

The door swung open. "I swear I didn't touch anything!" Kevin said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Everything just happened. All the equipment turned on and the map on the table lit up and-"

"Kevin!" Dean barked, stopping the panicky garble. "I don't care, help me get him inside." Dean watched Kevin drop his bag on the floor, the kid's eyes expecting harsh words and demanding answers. Kevin looked like he was going to say something but Dean glared hard, jerking his head in Sam's direction. Sam was the present issue, not Kevin running away. That could be handled later and, in all honesty, he wasn't really that pissed, though it probably helped that Kevin hadn't made it out the door in the first place.

Relinquishing one of Sam's sides, he allowed Kevin to come around and together they slowly walked the younger Winchester down the stairs. "An elevator would have been too much to ask," the prophet grumbled to himself. Dean almost smirked, remembering a similar conversation with Sam after the first trial had been completed. Lugging a dazed and confused six-foot-four sasquatch down the stairs and into the bunker had not been easy.

"Kevin. Bathroom. Bathtub filled with cold water. Go, now." Dean ordered, swinging Sam into the corridor. He readjusted his grip as Kevin sprinted ahead to the bathroom. "Cas? Where the hell are you?" he muttered. He was angry at the angel because dammit, Castiel was so broken before and after Purgatory that he didn't know how to put his friend back together. Saying 'sorry' with a board game, appearing naked on the hood of the Impala...that was not cool in the slightest and then Castiel had said he might kill himself. Those words had left his stomach rolling and driven him near the brink of insanity for days after. And now, did he even know what he had done? Did he know that he dropped the angels...hell, had he even dropped with them?

Finally reaching the bathroom, he deposited Sam, as gently as he could, on the edge of the tub. "What else do you need?" he heard from behind him.

"See if you can track down Garth." When he heard the footsteps leave, he assessed Sam, opening his eyes and seeing the glaze upon them, noting the red flush on his skin and the shaking of his body. Carefully, he hauled Sam's legs over the rim of the tub and into the water before sliding him in the rest of the Sam submerged, he removed his sodden shoes and socks, then knelt by his brother's side. "Listen Sam, I'm gonna see if Garth can find us a doctor," he began, letting his fingers run through the cold water. "I said no hospitals, but man, this is out of my territory and I'm flying blind." He so needed Bobby.

"What's going on?" Kevin yelled minutes later, skidding to a halt just outside the door. "Garth said he'd call back later. But he said that there was like a meteor shower or something except some hunters are saying people are getting dropped from the sky. They were all out cold, but alive. And then he said he's getting calls from all over the world." Dean got up, mindful of Sam still floating in the tub and watched as the prophet face changed to shock."You said this would be all over and then Castiel said that this would never be over. What the hell?"

Quickly striding over, he grabbed the kid's shoulder and bent a little so they were face to face. "Listen to me, Kevin...hey, Kevin!" he yelled, snapping his fingers in an attempt to draw some focus. "Trust me when I say that I'm sorry that you got dragged into this shit. Now I don't know how, but those weren't people. Those were angels."

"Dean-."

Shaking Kevin slightly, he continued. "I need you to keep your game face on, okay? C'mon man, at the moment, you are the smartest kid in the room and we need you to stay onside." The words felt like empty platitudes even if it was the truth. Dean steered him out into the corridor and pushed him in the direction of his room. "Rest up, okay...oh and Kev? You're doing good, kid." He watched Kevin walk away in a daze and he shook his head.

The opening bars of his ringtone blared in the silent room. "Kevin texted me to call you guys. Did you really break heaven?" Garth asked. "That is the dumbest thing I've heard and believe me, I've seen my fair share of dumb."

"Don't 'Bobby' me, Garth," Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Garth, Sam needs a doctor, like, a hunter doctor." There was silence on the other end of the line. "Garth? Garth. Garth! Dammit! Garth! Answer me!"

He could hear muffled shouting before Garth's calm voice funnelled through the speaker. "Chill, Deano. Give me the address and Sam's symptoms. I've got a guy on the other line who's leaving right as we speak."

Huffing out a laugh, Dean gave the information over, for the brief time things seemed to be looking up. He looked over at Sam still floating in the water and sighed. "And just FYI, we didn't break heaven."

Garth huffed, voice drifting softer as he spoke to someone else before returning once again with his final parting. "I gotta go and, by the way, thanks for cleaning the boat."

**_?_?_**

He woke up shivering, still on the rain-sodden floor, his posture changing to one of defeat after realizing that everything that had occurred wasn't a nightmare.

Pulling his coat close around him, Castiel stood up unsteadily and walked without a particular direction in mind. As he placed his hands into damp pockets, his finger curled around a thin leather wallet. Curious, he pulled out the beaten wallet and flipped it open, watching in fascination as a drop of water fell from his fringe and tracked a path across his laminated face - the name of the ID bearing James Novak. Searching through the wallet, he found cash and credit cards, his fingers tracking the edges of the seam continuously until his dirty fingernail tugged a loose scrap of paper.

Anger burned through his body, his mouth twisting in disgust. The piece of paper fell from his hand and to the ground, rainwater diluting the blue ink and making it run like tear tracks. His steps quickened, beating a hasty retreat from the truth of a madman's parting words:

_Castiel, I can't wait for your return._  
_And to hear of your many adventures._  
_-M_

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading :) Remember reviews are an our currency :)


	3. 24 Hours

AN: Again, just a reminder that this is speculative season 9 as in I do not know anything about season 9 - and with all the tid-bits being released I think we can safely say that this story is heading to AU territory. Thanks to MissMe13 for beta-ing :)

* * *

_**24 HOURS AFTER THE ANGELS FELL**_

Dean had opened the door to reveal a lanky looking man with light brown that sat tied in a little rat-tail just above the collar of his shirt. He actually looked eerily similar to Garth. Young, radiating with exuberance….it took all of his willpower not to roll his eyes as he stepped aside to let the doctor in.

"Probably some'ing residual...demon...salt...back-up...Rory...turkey blood...willow ash..." Rory mumbled to himself, gesturing for Dean to take in the rest of the equipment.

"He's in here. Kevin, back up a bit," Dean said, moving towards the bed where Sam had been moved to. Sam hadn't been moved to his own room and instead Dean had opted to take him to the room right next door to the bathroom. It was easier that way.

"Rory, do you need anything?"

"Nope," came the reply.

Watching the contents of the bag being pulled up left Dean's eyebrows shooting upwards. "Hex-bags, blood, herbs…shit, what the hell is all this crap?"

"How else do you expect me to fix 'im if you ain't gonna let me take him to a hospital?" Rory took Sam's hand, pricking the kid's index finger and squeezing out a drop of blood onto a little paper strip. "If he's got internal bleeding I gotta stop it somehow, now don't I?" He plugged in three scanners into the electrical outlet and set the monitors beside him. "Now get, and let me examine 'im properly."

Dean's protests were ignored as Rory manhandled him out into the corridor, Kevin following after. With the door shut behind them, he punched the wall and sank to the floor.

"Sam's going to be ok," Kevin said.

The prophet looked unsure if the sentiment would be welcomed and he looked distinctly uncomfortable having offered that little gem already.

As far as he was concerned the next words out of his mouth could have been a string of swear words and insults, each cutting deeper than the last. Though, he had to give the kid props for asking. He snorted softly, rubbing his neck and taking pity on him. "Permission to leave." Kevin nodded once before leaving and as he disappeared around the corner a loud sigh and a muttered 'thank God' reverberated through the walls.

Finally, the door swung open to reveal a slightly rumpled looking Rory. "I think it'll right itself in the end. Internal bleeding was a big worry...an' some of 'is organs are damaged...he's got an infection, start of what looks like pneumonia...and a few busted ribs and fractures in 'is forearm. Shin splints, which is odd. Supernaturally...and, well, that's a bit of a tough one. Look's like he got a bit of, well, demon in…"

"Fuck...wait-demon in him?"

"Well, not an actual demon...more like the essence of one...he's not going to be possessed...it's like a link, sort of. A bit like he swallowed a stone and it's just sitting somewhere in his body."

Dean barrelled past him towards Sam with his eyes filled with regret. "Are-how do you know...for sure?"

"Well, I said Christo and he opened his eyes." Bullshit; as if that did anything. He knew what saying Christo meant and as he was about to let out a tirade, Rory continued. "As soon as you got out the room I knocked 'im out with a sedative...he shouldn't have woken up for a tornado, if one just so happened to come through the middle of that room. I tried an exorcism on 'im and he didn't bat an eyelash...almost drowned 'im in holy water too...not a peep."

"You sure?" Rory nodded. "Uh, can you check on Kevin...down the corridor, take two lefts and then it's third room on the left." Another nod and then the doctor was off.

"Hey, Sammy." He placed a finger on Sam's pulse just to reassure himself. "Got yourself pretty banged up here, haven't you, brother?" Jesus Christ, something demonic inside him. Fuck, Sam had said that these trials were purifying him from that demon blood and now what? He was gonna carry around a little bit of demon in his pocket at all times? He could still see Sam's feverish face as he told Dean why he could never be a knight and if that hadn't damn near broken his heart nothing would have. It almost made him drag Sam away from that stupid motel and that stupid town and that stupid set of trials, because how dare Sam feel tainted and damaged and unworthy and just why did it always have to happen to him?

"Christo." He clenched his fists as Sam's eyes snapped open for a moment and then closed tight.

He waited for a few minutes before repeating the word"Christo"and watched in sick fascination as it happened again.

Rory had to be wrong.

He pulled out the demon-killing knife and carefully cut into Sam's arm, watching the little thread of red blood well out from the crevasse. Sam still had not moved a muscle. Pocketing the knife and resting his elbows lightly on his knees, his head dropped until his hands rested lightly over his mouth in distress. He stared at Sam's eyes.

A pleading whisper: "Christo."

Open…

No, damn it, Sammy...please no...please…

Close.

The hands moved up from his mouth to cover his face.

"I should head off," Rory said, cracking his back and beginning to grab some of his equipment.

Dean started, head turning towards the doctor, blinking to clear his vision "Uh, yeah. Thanks for all this."

"You Winchester's pull some intense shit. Ever thought of taking a holiday?"

He laughed bitterly. "Believe me, I've tried."

"Well, you have my number. If there's any change, call me. His temperature spikes, you get 'im in a bathtub immediately. I know that's a pain in the ass, but he radiates heat s'if the fires of hell were in 'im."

You don't know the half of it. Dean's jaw tightened involuntarily. "Yeah."

"Oh, and watch out for Kevin. I'm glad you made me check him too. He needs to eat more and stay hydrated...You tell 'im I'm threatenin' him with an IV if he don't get better habits next time I come in. Make sure he takes 'em sleeping tablets too: two nights on, two nights off. Kid's got bags the size of the moon under those eyes. He's twitchy 'n all."

"Aye-aye, captain."

"Don't be smart with me. You oughta take care of yourself, too. If you insist on staying with Sam, drag a mattress in. Even you need sleep, Winchester.

**_?_?_**

"Sir, sir? Are you okay? You can't sleep here. C'mon move along." The police man shone the light into Castiel's face, darting the beam in front of the ex-angel's eyes. "Sir, are you hurt?"

Righting himself on the park bench, he pulled his coat around him, peering at the officer in confusion. "No."

"Then move on, please." The light dipped a little.

Move on where? He didn't even know where he was. "I, I don't have a place to go."

Taking pity, the officer gestured for him to enter the squad car.

In the backseat, he dutifully put on his seat belt. Something he learned from Sam, who wouldn't carry him if he wasn't wearing one and kept yelling at Dean when he didn't. He stared at the scenery whizzing past him before a thought came to him. "Is there a church still open?"

"Yeah."

"Please, may I go there?

The officer hesitated. "You can't sleep there, buddy."

"I do not wish to sleep…"

Sighing, the car slid to a halt near the back of the church car park.

Castiel made sure not to stumble out of the car, nodding once towards the officer. As the car pulled out of the lot, he began moving towards the church. The cold air wrapped around him, his foggy breath rising like smoke. Just a few steps away from the entrance, he looked up at the sky. The night unmarked by stars. It was simple. So unlike the night before where streaks of colour dashed the sky.

Tonight, it was clear and the expanse of darkness stretched practically forever...everything had become so fucking complicated.

"Metatron, I hope you can hear me, you son of a bitch! I trusted you and you took everything away from me! You destroyed my family and put us all on this godforsaken earth and you know what? You know what?! Be prepared. I am coming for you. I will find a way to fix this and in the process, I will make you human and cast you down so you can write your own fucking story!" Chest heaving, lungs burning from the rapid intake of breath, Castiel crumpled to his knees right outside the church door, squeezing the tears from his eyes.

His eyes widened as the pastor stepped out from a door next to the pulpit, intending to lock the church for the night. As the priest began to walk towards him, he drew himself

up, clutching the door frame.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You're soaked through...come inside."

"I apologize for the late hour."

"Was that you yelling?"

Cringing, he nodded. "I apologize for that, too."

"No matter, please…I'll be back in a moment." He watched the pastor gesture to the pew, indicating him to take a seat. As the pastor disappeared from view, he bowed his head, playing with the wallet in his hands and taking a moment to process everything that had just happened to him in the last day.

Dean went to stop Sam from closing the gates of hell. Sam was most likely dead. Dean told him not to trust Metatron. Metatron lied to him, killed Naomi, took his grace and completed a spell that sent the angels to earth and let himself into the house. Dean seemed to have a knack for knowing the truth. He bit his lip, frowning slightly.I should have asked him how such a thing was possible. He jumped, feeling the weight of a fluffy towel wrapped around him.

"Do you have a place to stay for the night?"

"Someone took everything I had. I have no home or possessions…"

"Family?"

He ignored the stinging in his eyes. "I-he...they are dead. I have no one."

The pastor looked unconvinced. "Surely, you must have friends?"

Okay, so the stinging was beginning to hurt. Rubbing his eyes and ridding them of the tears that threatened to fall, he shook his head. "I did...but my actions...I do not imagine that they would be receptive of me. I am by myself."

The face across from his own softened considerably. "No one is ever truly alone." Hesitation. "I have a spare room in my house...you could stay there for a while, until you get yourself sorted." The offer was very kind and unexpected. Was it normal for people to offer a place to stay to a stranger? He declined the offer, pointing out that did not seem to be an accepted practice. He received a laugh. "I was in training to be a lawyer before I was called to God's service. If there is one thing you should know about me, it is that I never follow accepted practice."

"I see." He really didn't.

"So, shall I make up the spare?"

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading :)


	4. 3 Days

AN: Thank you for the reviews/favourites/follows. I really appreciate it :)

* * *

_**3 DAYS AFTER THE ANGELS FELL**_

"Coma?!"

"Means the body's mending is all."

"Mending? He hasn't eaten in days!"

"Which is why I set up the drips."

"But I thought you fixed him!"

"Aye, I did - the bleeding...he's still got infections up to the wazoo. It ain't exactly science now, is it though?"

"Are you sure it's not the...well, other thing?"

Rory was silent.

"Because no one else has heard of this happening before. How come you're the only one?"

Rory countered this." How come no one since the days of Samuel Colt has ever heard of a way to kill a demon?"

Dean had to admit defeat on that one.

**_?_?_**

"How's Moose doing?" Crowley asked, straining his neck to see Dean walk into the room. "He on the mend? He's getting better, right? I mean, it's been a few days. I assume you've got him tucked up in an oversized bed. Sleep's always good," the semi-demon? Semi-human? Crowley rambled.

"Let's talk about you. How you feeling?"

"Hungry, tired...I couldn't trouble you for a shower, could I? I'm really starting to smell...though _you_ look like crap. Have you slept at all? Taken a shower? Maybe I'm _not_ the one who smells." He paused to sniff the air around him. "Nope, definitely me."

"Crowley," Dean growled.

"Listen, I'm worried about what's going on down there." Dean made a face eyes flicking to Crowley's waist. It took all of his willpower not to roll his eyes. Sam was definitely the brains of the outfit. "I didn't mean there, numpty; I meant about the homeland. After all, I was their leader…plus, they might take the fact that it's empty upstairs as a sign to party."

"Fantastic."

"And, well, I...I feel _sad_."

"Sad?"

"Yeah, you know sad...upset...melancholy. It's written all over your face. Sam's not doing so well, is he?"

"Aside from the coma? Nope, he's not doing too well. "

"Sarcasm? Really Dean? I'll let it slide because you're tense. Off you pop."

"Huh?"

"Go Squirrel; go to your Moose and look after the poor unconscious sod."

**_?_?_**

Dean exited the room, slightly put off from Crowley's genial demeanour. Straight laced demons were easy to understand - they cared for nothing other than themselves and that made his job rather easy. This...change, muddying of waters, blending of black and white into grey confused him. Crowley was a demon, but he was this much closer to being, well, human… Shaking his head at the thought, he looked up only to see Kevin steer towards him. "I still can't believe you made Garth bring him here!"

"Kevin-"_Dammit._

"He killed my girlfriend and my mom. Now I have to share a roof with him! "

He was too tired for this. Plastering a smart-ass smirk on his face, he continued his path, taking the stairs two at a time and listening to Kevin still behind him. "Technically you share a floor with him...he's in a dungeon; that's partially under your room and next to the shooting range. Anyways, he's cured...sort of."

Kevin's voice went up an octave as he grabbed Dean's jacket at the elbow. "Sort of? What happens if he isn't and he goes back to being all 'I'm Crowley the King of Hell. Cross me and I'll snap your neck with the click of my fingers', because if he does we're all screwed."

_Yes...we are most definitely screwed._" He's gonna stay in the dungeon and anytime we move him, he'll be blindfolded just like he was when Garth brought him here." The grip on his jacket loosened, allowing him to walk away from the prophet. "Now stop panicking and translate the angel tablet. Faster you solve it, the sooner we can get Crowley out from under us...literally."

**_?_?_**

On reflection, he should have taken the offer to stay with much more enthusiasm than what he'd originally granted it. After formal introductions had been completed, with a slight misstep on his part, ('_Peter Bartholomew.' 'I'm Cas-I mean James Novak.') _He had been led to a small house just to the left of the church grounds. On the outside, vines of ivy wrapped around the small door frame, two little potted plants bracketing both sides. The brick work seemed quite old and, impulsively, his fingers brushed the damaged façade. Peter had shaken his head, ushering him inside, already handing him extra towels and a blanket before moving down a short passage into the unused room. Within minutes, fresh linen made up the bed and the smell of dust had vanished. Within the first day, he had received a bag of personal items and a care package from the woman who owned the small convenience store that was opposite the park bench where he had first attempted to sleep. He was living...for the most part.

"What happened to you?" Peter asked, eyes tracking his movements, paying particular interest to the gauze wrapped around his hand and the stark white bandage under his jaw.

Placing the laundry bag containing his suit on the floor he looked away, scratching his hair. "I got hit by a car. In the car's defence, I was disoriented and wandered onto the road." His stomach growled. Three days a human and he kept forgetting to eat. Peter stared at him. "The car is fine..." he trailed off, unable to think of anything to say and reached into his pocket "...look, I brought you your change."

As he deposited the quarters quietly onto the table, amusement highlighted Peter's smile. "Well, thank you." A brief pause followed before Peter's eyes widened. "Oh, I found this in the church yesterday. It rang once, but it's not my place to answer your phone."

Discomfort swept through him. Ringing? Aside from the Winchesters who would ring him? Cautiously picking the phone out of the man's outstretched hand; he nodded once before taking his bag and walked to his room.

Bag deposited next to the bed and phone placed gently onto his bed covers, Castiel stood staring.

If Dean was calling him, did this mean that the gates of Hell had been closed? Maybe the call was one of joy, and Sam - oh, _Sam. _If the gates are closed then Sam…he dropped to the end of the bed, hand holding his head in despair and fighting off a sudden onset of nausea. He forced himself to ignore the tiny voice in the back of his mind that suggested that it wasn't Dean who was making the calls.

_Sam's calling because Dean's dead..._

Fingers danced blindly across the covers in search of the device. Sending a quick prayer, he held the phone to his ear waiting for the messages to begin.

…_10 __new messages_

_-beep-_

_Castiel, are you there__?__ We saw what happened. Please tell me that you're alright._

_End of message._

Relief flooded his veins. Dean was alright.

…_9 new messages_

_-beep-_

_Castiel. __If you have mojo, g__et your feathery butt to me right now._

_End of message._

…_8 new messages_

_-beep-_

_Cas. I need you to get here. Sam's in a really bad way. I don't know what I'm meant to do._

_End of message._

How odd, his prayers had been answered.

…_7 new messages_

_-beep-_

_Cas. Where the hell are you?_

_End of message_

…_6 new messages_

_-beep-_

_Fucking Sam and his fucking tech brain. Did he teach you about disabling your GPS__?__ Castiel, you call me right now or so help me God I am going to kill you when I find you. And believe me, I will find a way to find you._

_End of message_

…_5 new messages_

_-beep-_

_Sam's got a chunk of demon in him...did you hear that?_

Castiel closed his eyes allowing the slurring, broken tone in Dean's voice to roll over him.

_My brothers got a demon all up inside him again. _

Dean hiccupped.

_But he's not possessed...nope, because that would be too fucking normal. Oh and I forgot to mention __that__ he's in a coma. _

_Hey, Cas, when you coming back home? I need you…remember that man…_

Ending with Dean presumably passed out, the message lasted for another forty minutes.

_End of message_

…_4 new messages_

_-beep-_

_Hey Cas, listen if you get this message...uh..._

Resignation.

_Nevermind._

_End of message._

…_3 new messages_

_-beep-_

_Fuck you. Are you hiding?_

_End of message_

…_2__ new messages_

_-beep-_

_Hey, unless you lost your phone and I'm going to assume you haven't...um…I met with some hunters who've been going around tracking down the angels who fell...and none of them remember a thing...like anything. So, if you fell then you probably don't remember anything either. Shit, I really hope that isn't true. But, well, I'm Dean Winchester...we 're friends. And yeah, there's some things that you should know about __yourself t__hat I can help you with. If you tell me where you are, I can pick you up and then we'll get this mess sorted out. Okay. Uh, bye Cas...oh, your name is Castiel...just, so...you know._

_End of message_

…_1 new messages_

_-beep-_

_This is Dean...sorry to call - it just, helps a bit with everything that's happening. Listen, Cas, I know that you have no idea what's going on but, if you are getting these messages I need you to call Garth. Sam's not getting better...I have to try something...anything__;__ I don't care what. And if I do find a way, then I need to know that he'll be okay because I don't know whether _I_ will be. This isn't your __responsibility __and it's alright if you don'__, but...please."_

_End of final message._

* * *

AN: Here we go. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter :) If you like, drop a review, I really appreciate them, and if you have any questions I'm happy to answer them :)


	5. One Week

AN: Thank you for review/favourites/follows :) Only the first POV was beta'd (Thanks MissMe13). I added most of this afterwards so hopefully it's okay. Remember this is speculative S9 - I am spoiler free.

* * *

_**ONE WEEK AFTER THE ANGELS FELL**_

"You know when he wakes up; I'd like to tell him I'm sorry."

"For what? Trying to kill us? Turning Cas against us? Taking Bobby's soul? Being a dick?"

"Oi, I gave the old man his legs back!"

"You held his soul for ransom!"

"He was alright in the end," Crowley muttered.

Dean yanked on the strap extra hard causing him to hiss. "He got shot in the fucking head - what's your definition of alright?"

These humans and their semantics. "And remind me again; whose soul made it to the pearly gates up above...what's that? Bobby? Why yes, it did?"

"That was Sam's doing, not yours." _Oh Dean, you wound me. _

"And hence the reason why I would like to apologize - he was in the cage with two pissed off angels...Purgatory could have broken him." Crowley felt a tiny thread of gratefulness worm into his voice_. Really? Well, you always did have a soft spot for the Winchesters…damn that bloody moose!_ He shook his head trying to get rid of these unsettling feelings.

Dean looked up sharply, pulling out his ringing cell. "Garth...I'm on my way...no, tell him to stay put...I don't care! Christ, I'll be there in…" he took a glance at the time, "…three hours, give or take. If he's gone then I'm going to kick his ass...and yours too."

"Need any assistance?" Crowley said craning his neck.

"Not from you."

"What about Sam's little issue?

"What issue?" He saw Dean's back stiffen.

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you. I mean the little bit of me that's inside him. You should be thankful; there are kinkier ways it could've happened."

Like a snake striking out, Dean was suddenly in his face. "What did you do to him?"

"Just a little friendly exchange of bodily fluids. He injected me with his blood. I left some of my saliva in his arm. You know how it is?" The fist to the jaw was completely expected.

"Crowley, tell me or so help me God, I will leave you to rot in here."

"No you won't. You can't. Got little Sammy Winchester to think about, don't you Deano?"

"I'll take my chances. Nothing more than the sound of your own voice to keep you company? It'll drive you insane." Dean walked away muttering curses under his breath.

"I highly doubt that." Turning his head back to stare at the floor, he watched the shine of the light vanishing into nothing more than a sliver before a quick flick of the switch flooded the dungeon with a pale, barely visible yellow. Sighing, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes breathing out. "Home sweet home."

**_?_?_**

Dean clenched his hands around the steering wheel replaying Crowley's words in his head. Sam was going to be fine. He didn't need that smarmy son of bitch's help.

It had been a sixteen hour drive to the little town that Garth had called him to. When exited the car he walked over to church ducking his head in the door.

"Hey Pete? Garth called, said you had some angel-amnesiacs for me."

"You threatened to kill me if I left." A scoff. "As if I would leave." Peter looked up from the book he was reading. "They're at the hospital."

The answer surprised him. "I thought you would with them, comforting their poor souls of whatever?" He sat down next to the priest.

"How exactly do you propose I offer such comfort? 'Hello. You are an angel of the lord, you fell from the sky. The fall didn't kill you, but you don't remember anything. Would you like to stay in my storage cupboard until I find a place for you all?'"

The sarcasm drew a smile from him. "You could always put them under the stairs...like a Harry Potter deal?"

"Cute. You read that or wait for the movies?"

"What do you think?" Dean said smirking.

Peter let out a chuckle, standing. "Just give me a moment." When Peter returned they set out for the hospital.

"Is Sam doing okay? And you know I don't condone lying."

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel...

He had met Peter by accident whilst living with Lisa. He was walking home from the bar when he'd been attacked by a demon. Only a couple of months had passed since Sam had jumped into the pit and for the most part, he had started to relax. The gun tucked into the back of his jeans now lived in the bottom of his bed side drawer, in a locked box. The knife under his pillow had migrated to the trunk of the Impala. The Impala...the poor baby, lived under a sheet.

He was out of practise and there was nothing more dangerous than a hunter that had let his defences down. He didn't know that until after he was pinned to the side of a brick wall with a demon right in his face, knife to his side, the smell of sulphur entering his nose. For a brief moment, he had cursed himself, and Sam, for believing that he could do normal. The knife pressing into his side piercing the skin was a very big reminder of why he couldn't…

And then Peter had shown up. A Latin exorcism flowing from his mouth just like the black demon smoke flowed out of the poor possessed bastard. He had tried to calm Dean down, mistaking the heavy breathing and silence for shock.

It wasn't until Dean mentioned that it would be safer to bring Holy Water as backup - 'just in case shit happens' - that Peter had confessed his story.

They had traded numbers, at Dean's insistence, and then Peter had left and Dean had returned home to Lisa and Ben.

The family, much to Lisa and Ben's confusion and worry, moved a week later into a brand new house. The gun returned, tucked back into his jeans, the knife lived in the first drawer of his bedside table.

The Impala remained under the sheet.

…"Um, sorry what did you ask?"

"Sam." Peter looked out the window. "There's something you aren't telling me."

Scrubbing a hand across his mouth, he fought the urge to keep silent. He reminded himself that he needed all the allies he could get, and that Peter was a damn good one to have on his side. "Sam was completing trails to close the Gates of Hell." From his peripheral, he noticed Peter tense up. "The last trial was to 'cure a demon'. We were all ready for it - _we_ wanted to complete it. Sam had to inject his blood into the demon a couple of times, say some spell and then it would be over…"

"I presume something went wrong?"

"Depends on your definition of 'wrong'. When he was doing the trial, the demon bit him in the arm. He patched himself up. We almost completed the trials...but I couldn't let him finish it."

"Why not?"

"'Cause...he'd die, and I will not let that happen." Dean waited for the admonishment, the idea that the lives of many should outweigh the one - that he should have let Sam die to close the gates.

"You think the fluid swapping did something to Sam." He looked at Peter, surprised at the serene look on his face. "You did the right thing. Look at what happened, Dean. The angels have fallen, if Sam had died, we'd be a man down. If this is God's plan, then I'm not gonna question it," he lowered his voice, "I realise that you think that he's left the building. Allow me to have my faith."

Nodding stiffly, he slowed the Impala, entering the hospital parking lot. "Let's go interview some amnesiacs."

Two hours and fifteen patients later they called it quits.

"You look especially disappointed Dean. I realise that it probably wasn't the outcome you were looking for." When he didn't say anything Peter sighed. "There's something else, isn't there?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, he rationalised. "Me and Sam met a few angels, in the past couple of years. There was one who, stuck around, longer than most. I don't know what happened to him."

"Are we looking for him?"

"Yeah."

"So you have no interests in the amnesiacs?"

"I never said that." Peter smiled, Dean shifted from foot to foot. "Look, he was pretty messed up by the end of this and yeah this whole thing is sorta his fault and, man, I don't know. I just want to know that he's alright. Is that a crime?"

"It's never a crime to care Dean Winchester. You of all people should know that."

**_?_?_**

Castiel was struck dumb. That car...why was that car outside the church? Sunlight struck the front of the Impala, reflecting off the shiny surface.

He had left the church and went to the little hardware store intending to buy nails and a latch for the church gate. When he returned, there was a note on the table with the words:

_James, I'm going out for a while. _

_Leave the things on the table and I'll take care of it later. _

_Thanks._

Following the notes instructions, he placed the bag of items on the table and spent the rest of his time sitting quietly in his room. Contemplation was not only his solace, but also his punishment.

And when he walked out of the little house and into the backdoor of the church, he was sure he was being punished.

"I hope you aren't going to do anything foolish." Peter's tone one was of long-suffering annoyance.

_Dean. _The rough voice was unmistakable. "I'll do what's necessary." Castiel took a step back lurking behind the door. From his line of sight he could see Dean sitting on the left side pews near the middle of the church. Dean looked a little pale with shadows under his eyes and scruffiness along his jaw.

"Even if it kills you?"

Dean stood and began walking out of the church. "Well, I got no one to look out for me so...yeah." The bitter tone on his voice made Castiel's shoulder slumped. If he thought that he could help Dean in any way, then he would've revealed himself to be alive and well. The church became silent. He could here murmuring and the distinct whisper of, 'Someone else is here.'

Peter's calm voice tricked over to him. "It's probably James. Don't worry about it. I've checked him out and he's clean."

_A hunter? _Castiel decided to retreat back to the house but the worry gnawing at the pit of his stomach did not disappear with Dean's leaving.

**_?_?_ **

"I do not appreciate deviation from the script."

"To be honest. I thought we threw it out after me and Sam refused to play our parts." _Cockiness will only get you so far. _

Death favoured a look at Dean.

He had come willingly of course. He did not need to be tied down to listen to _good_ ideas. Unlike Lucifer, Dean, for the most part, respected the natural order of things. Though of course, like any human, he had faults...well, one in particular.

He shouldn't have expected anything less when Dean's summon was to be in relation to the young Winchester.

Taking a bit of his pizza he surveyed Dean who had pushed away his plate of pasta and leaned back in his chair.

"Is this gonna get bad?"

_Yes, my boy. This is going to get very bad. _"I cannot imagine that it will be good."

"What do we do?"

_Ever the hero. _"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Dean sounded incredulous.

"What would you have me do Dean? Put the angels back into heaven."

"Um...yeah?"

"Eloquence is not your strong point."

Flustered for a moment, it looked as if Dean was going to stand up at walk out. Instead the Winchester surprised him by taking a deep breath and a sip of his water. "You're Death. You will reap God. You have the power of life and death literally in your hands. I'm thinking that you can do whatever the hell you want - how's that for eloquence?"

_Not impressive, but credit to where it's due. _"It is not my place to fix mistakes. As I said, this world is very, _very, _far down on the pecking order."

"What about Sam?" _Even further down the order than you are I'm afraid. _

"Dean. Let's be clear about this. I am not a preforming monkey. Further to the point, I am not _your_ preforming monkey. I got you to respect the natural order and do not think for a second that I will allow you to forget that."

An undercurrent of fury was detected in Dean's voice. "You're telling me my brother's going to die."

Taking a sip of his coke Death shrugged his shoulder. "Inevitably."

* * *

AN: Yay Death! He's an awesome character but I must admit, quite difficult to write. I hope I did alright. Thanks for reading. :)


	6. One Week and Four Days

AN: Hey guys - alerts apparently were down the night I posted chapter five, so hopefully it the alerts are up and running then you guys will be surprised with chapter five and six! Lucky you :P So unfortunately I don't think I'll finish this before season 9 starts. Hopefully you guys will stick through the story regardless :) Un-beta'd.

* * *

_**ONE WEEK AND FOUR DAYS AFTER THE ANGELS FELL**_

"Charlie?"

On any other day she would have relished the look of surprise on his face. She would have quipped about his eyes becoming as large as Bambi's and hugged him - tight and quick, before launching into updates about the latest Battle of Moondoor

But not today.

Instead, as she saw his eyes widen, she bit her lip. She allowed hesitation to halt her movement, just for a moment, before flinging her arms around him and quietly saying, "Anything you need, you got it."

There was a slight flinch but in spite of it, she couldn't fight off the smile that came with Dean wrapping his arms around her. "I told you not to come."

She pulled back, rolling her eyes. "Of course I had to! Lead the way General!" Having her bags taken from her, she looked around the bunker in awe. "I don't think I'll ever get over how cool this place is!"

Dean's tired voice let out a 'Charlie', which she acknowledged by closing the gap between them and entering her room.

"Fill me in. I'm here to help, what do you need?"

"Really Charlie. I don't need anything."

"Water? Baby-sitter? Nurse? Researcher? Because you know, I am a_ really_ good researcher."

Dean's stance faltered and he braced himself near the wall. "What's wrong?" She rushed towards him and felt his forehead.

"Shit, get off me." Her hands were batted away.

Stepping back quickly, she rummaged through her bags. "Jeez, no need to get antsy. Just wanted to see if you were ok."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, pull the other one." She pulled out her Darth Vader bobble head and turned around. "When was the last time you slept? I'm talking proper eight hour, land of the dead shut eye. Not bobble-heading?" Her head automatically tilted up and down like a bobble head, indicating micro-sleeps.

A withering glare was sent her way.

"I'm just saying. Running on empty is no way to run, and from what you've told me, it sounds like you're running a marathon."

Dean just stalked out of the room.

**_?_?_**

"James!" Castiel turned his fearful eyes onto Peter who rushed at him. He closed his eyes, bracing for a tackle of some sort, but it never came. Instead Peter had grabbed the fire extinguisher dousing the flames on the stove.

"I apologise!" Peter gave one last squirt of the fire extinguisher that had spluttered to a pathetic close before dropping it and turning around.

"Oh, dear sweet lord, what have you done?"

When he turned his head, his voice was swallowed by the orange flames that searched for air on his sleeve. "I-I-"

"It'll be alright." A tea towel wrapped hand began hitting his arm.

The warmth of the fire was starting to hurt.

Eventually with the flames extinguished, Castiel spoke. "You committed blasphemy."

"You nearly burnt down my kitchen. I think I'm entitled to it."

The chastisement was well warranted as he took in the sooty walls and stove backsplash that was once a charming olive colour, but now as pitch black as night. The charred remnants of the egg swam sadly in oil. The arm of his shirt, singed and still slightly smoking.

"My deepest apologies...I was hungry."

"What did you want to eat?"

"Fried eggs."

"Uh…You can't cook?"

"My...my family was very sheltered. One of the people I knew joked that I was 'boring and Amish'. I disagree of course. The Amish are wonderfully talented people with a great perchance to song, but I digress. Never had I the need to cook. I hardly ever eat."

"Alright. Come on, we should get you checked out. Hopefully you're not that badly burnt."

Castiel looked down at his arm as he walked out the door and into Peter's car. The skin had reddened and blistered, angry at both the fire that scorched him, and the ice cold water that was used to numb some of the pain.

Dutifully he was silent through the drive to the hospital and allowed himself to be prodded by the nurse. She tutted at him gently, cleaning the burn, and warned him away from the stove. It was extraordinarily mundane like his other two trips in the past.

At least it was mundane until he caught a wisp of brown hair that reminded him of Ellen, and a panicked voice that was resoundingly Gail's.

A shadow ran past the curtain of his room.

Minutes later he was looking Peter who had ducked his head through the curtain. "Sorry, would you mind if I left for a moment." Without waiting for a reply, Peter's head disappeared.

A moment later he was cleared with one last warning about stoves and managed to track down Peter to an isolated ward.

He was very unprepared for who he saw.

"Gail!" He stared at Peter who had taken her hand in his own, before quickly walking over to them. Guilt almost tripped him over. "Gail! Are you okay? You aren't hurt are you?"

Fear.

Castiel stopped short. "I…"

Peter stood, eyes stuck on Gail. "James. How do you know her?"

Panic. Sheer terror coursed through his veins. "She...she helped me once." _I am so sorry. _He clenched his palm remembering the weight of the Cupid's bow that once resided there for a few brief moments.

"Do you know if she's got any family?"

He looked up, passed Gail, taking stock of the rest of the ward. "A few brothers and sisters…" _Oh, what have I done?_

Once a proud leader, Barachiel now sat huddled at the top of his bed. His dead eyes sweeping over the room.

_"...Castiel, you're orders are to retrieve Dean Winchester…"_

Nathaniel, an angel who sought out inspiration was watching him cautiously.

_"...Castiel, your rebellion, my garrison pledges loyalty to you…"_

Sraosha, was weeping - her dark her acting like a curtain around her eyes.

_"...Castiel...I mean, my Lord, please, I beg of you, spare me and my sisters…"_

_What have I done?! _Breathing suddenly became difficult. His head was swimming. "I don't know-" he croaked out.

"James, whoa, calm down." Peter grabbed him, forcing him to sit on Gail's bed with his head between his knees. "Just breathe with me okay?"

He struggled against the grip when black hazy spots danced in front of his eyes. "C'mon. Breathe. You have to breathe_…_"

_Cas, relax man! _Dean's voice.

Castiel's eyes snapped upwards. "What…" he wheezed." What did...you call...me?"

Peter _looked_ confused. "James."

_Oh._

**_?_?_**

Kevin looked at the angel tablet with trepidation.

It had to be wrong.

There was absolutely no way that it said _that_.

But, excuse the pun, it was written in stone...right in front of his eyes.

"Kevin, how's it coming along?" He watched Dean move towards the kitchen and stop when he didn't give a reply. "Kevin?"

"I think I've been up for too long."

He caught the confused frown that crossed Dean's face. "Ah, okay. Go to bed then, but give me something?"

"It's wrong."

"What do you mean it's wrong? You translated it wrong, or it's not an angel tablet…" He looked up at Dean who suddenly seemed more alert yet defeated. "Oh, for fuck's sake, tell me that _is_ the angel tablet?!"

His voice sounded uncontrollably small to his own ears. "I-I don't know." He wanted to break down and cry because, holy crap, what the hell had they been fighting over if this wasn't the angel tablet. If it was a recipe for stew he swore that he'd off himself.

"You don't know?!"

"Are you deaf?" he said tonelessly, standing up out of his seat. "I need sleep."

He flinched as Dean grabbed his arm. "No. You need to tell me what the hell is going on, because this shit is not funny, and it certainly can't wait for you to have your beauty rest." Waves of heat poured off from Dean. Kevin frowned. "You feeling okay?" Dean still hadn't let go of him.

"Tell me about the goddamn tablet." Finally, his arm was released. A bruising hand print already started to develop on his pale skin. He glared at the hunter trying to rub away the pain.

"It's different from the other two. The style...I don't get it."

"What Kevin?"

"The whole thing? Fuck, the opening line basically translates to: 'Metatron could never write for shit'. What the hell is that?!"

From the flare of his nostrils and the look in his eyes, he was willing to guess that Dean was really didn't know what that meant.

Or...Dean was pissed off, about to snap and ready to put a bullet through his eyes.

Kevin really hoped it was the first one.

**_?_?_**

"I didn't expect a visit so soon." He had to admit, the kid had guts.

"Don't worry, I'll keep it brief."

"I'm touched you remember me down here, all by my lonesome."

No reply.

"I take it Dean doesn't know that you're the one who dropped me the info on Sam's illness? You should have seen his face. Thought the poor boy's eyeballs were going to explode outta his sockets."

A bag thudded to the floor.

"Listen, I've had a good few days of one sided conversation, not that I'm complaining. You know that I love the sound of my own voice, but come now, I'd like a bit of interaction...maybe an eyebrow twitch, hell, blink a little, or your eyes will dry out."

The zip of the bag opened. A knife was pulled out.

_Interesting. _The shadow loomed above him. The blade danced across his knuckles, the pressure threatening to break skin."That won't work you know."

Kevin smiled at him softly. "It never hurts to try."

"Be reasonable-" Crowley unwittingly let out a hiss and watched blood flow through the flap of skin that Kevin had pulled back.

_Shit._

"Perfect." The knife was dropped, clattering to the ground.

For a puny kid, Kevin managed to pack a punch.

Three across his left jaw. Two across his right. One that skimmed the edge of his nose. Another couple of hits to his stomach.

He took the anger silently, watching as the Prophet barely took a breath. "That's for my mom, you fucking bastard."

Kevin moved to leave.

"Oh what," he coughed, "leaving so soon?"

"Not just yet...there's one more thing that I want to try." Kevin returned with a syringe in hand.

"Getting creative now."

"Just a little something I picked up by reading."

The syringe was plunged into his neck. "Holy water?" A slight tingle ran through his veins. "Would you like me to scream in pain?"

"Son of a bitch!" Through blurry eyes, he watched Kevin shake his fist and walk out of the room. Blood cascaded from his nose down to his lips. _Bastard broke my nose. _

Hours later, the pain in his nose dulled, and softly in the dark, Crowley wept.

Guilt ripped through his insides. He could hear their screams, the piercing sound of women, and children, and men, some who deserved their fate and others who had been tricked into following.

He used to relish the smell of Hell. The copper tang waft of blood in the air. The salt of people's tears. The sulphur that was strong enough to burn the eyes of the freshest of stock. The stench of bodily fluids was a smell of home, but as his memory recalled what used to be akin to perfume, his body convulsed. Tremors rippled violently through him forcing his stomach to spasm. Vomit then, coated the front of his suit. Dark globs of black bloodied - Sam's - spit slowly inching down the length of his pants and dripping onto the floor.

With one last spit to clear the taste from his mouth, Crowley closed his eyes.

* * *

AN: So turns out that the Cupid in the last episode of season 8 was called Gail :) She was cool. Anywho, thank you for reading this. Of course, I'd love to hear your feedback, love/hate, it's okay :)


	7. One Week and Five Days

AN: Hey - I'm back! And very sorry about the little break :S I had assignments due, and now I'm in the middle of exams. Thank you to 1958Sarah for her review pointing out some issues with the layout of this. I've tried to cut back on pov's in the following chapters :) Just remember that within the chapters some of these pov's are days apart. Unbeta'd.

* * *

_**ONE WEEK AND FIVE DAYS**_

"D'n"

"Oh my god! Sam, you're awake!" Charlie watched Sam fight to open his eyes. "Hang on buddy." A frown crossed her face and she rushed towards the bed, arms outstretched. "Sit back down Sam," she said as sternly as she could manage when he tried weakly to sit up. She mentally high-fived herself for the commanding tone in her voice. "That's my boy!" He slumped back, head hitting the pillow with a dull thump_. Aw, crap. "_Sam...Sam?" She shook his shoulder in confusion watching his even breaths and fluttering eyes. "Well, I did tell you to back down…" Patting his head gently she wrung out a small towel and dabbed his forehead. "You don't like to do things by half."

After a few minutes and making sure that Sam was completely out of it she stood up walking to the library. "Hey Kev, how's it going?"

Tired eyes met her own.

"That well huh." She clapped her hands. "Guess what? Sam entered the land of living!"

The tell-tale signs of stress lifted a little from the prophet's shoulders. "Have you let Dean know yet?"

_Double crap. _"Uh...I was just about to do that."

Kevin shook his head looking back down at the tablet. "Sure you were," he mumbled. The spare cell phone was thrown in her direction and curses muttered as she fumbled with the device.

"What if he's doing something important?"

Kevin looked up. "You've read Chuck's books. You already know the answer to that."

And she did.

Punching in the number she rocked on her heals waiting for the call to connect. In her head played the words _d_on't_ pick up...don't pick up..._okay yes, informing Dean Winchester about anything Sam-related was terrifying and come on, like seriously, who could blame her.

_"What?" _

"Hi! Dean. It's Charlie - how's the angel-hunt going?" There was a heavy expulsion of air on the other end of the line.

She looked up catching Kevin's eye. Kevin was gesturing frantically.

"What?"

"Don't make small talk!" the prophet whispered.

With Kevin distracting her, she made out only a few snippets of conversation from Dean's end:

_"...sorry Dean, but I got no sign of your angel." _

_"Thanks Travis. These guys gonna be alright?" _

_"Truthfully, I don't really know. We'll manage though..." _

"I'm not making small talk! Look I'm going to tell him-"

_"Charlie! Fuck! Are you hearing me?"_

_Damn. _

_"Charlie! So help me God, if you don't tell me what's going on I'm going to...well, I don't know yet but I'll think of something!" _

"Sam woke up! "_Thank you Ms Self-Preservation_. "Dean?" Slowly, she lowered the phone from her ear and blinked.

Kevin looked at her nervously. "What happened?"

"He hung up on me! Shit, how bad is that - like a scale of 1 to 10?!"

"Depends...what did he say before you mentioned Sam?"

She repeated Dean's words twisting the fingers.

Kevin resumed his work, head bent low over scraps of paper. "You'll live."

**_?_?_**

"This isn't funny. You have to tell him." Kevin's voice rang out loudly in the quiet hallway. Dean had driven non-stop after checking out another angel lead. Castiel was still MIA. He was tired. And he didn't need Kevin and Charlie fighting right at this moment. He closed in on Kevin's bedroom door fully intending to yank one of them out of the room - he really didn't give a shit about who it was - and sequester them to the opposite side of the bunker. Gods, since when had he become a childcare minder?

As he neared the door he caught a flash of Charlie darting out of her room towards the library briefly giving him a nervous wave before realising that she had been waving for longer than necessary and trying to make a smooth exit.

Of course none of this mattered because, as far as Dean was concerned, only five people should've been in the bunker. Sam, Charlie, Kevin, Crowley and himself. Sam was knocked out, Crowley...if he wasn't in the basement, so help him, whoever let him out would wish they had never been born. Charlie in the library, Kevin in the room.

At Charlie's call, the possibility of Sam walking up had meant that it would be an awesome day. Now? Awesomeness of today - down a shitload of points.

Gun drawn, he shouldered his way into Kevin's bedroom where the prophet was glaring at the closet.

Correction, not at the closet. At the figure leaning casually against the closet. "Balthazar?!"

"Hi Honey, I'm home."

_Fucking angels. _

"But-you...you died!"

"Yes, that was a very unfortunate incident." And very true. Castiel had plunged the sword into him and that had hurt. A god-awful lot. And he had died-ish. It was difficult to explain. "Short of it. I am technically 'dead'. But you know me, everything I do is for the greater good and all that. Especially because we can't have Mr Prophet here without a protector.

He lowered the gun, holstering it into the back of his jeans. "You arrogant bag of dicks!" The cracking of bone under his knuckles was little consolation.

Balthazar swore, prodding the blossoming bruise on his cheek. "Arrogant, maybe, bag of dicks, I'd like to object. Listen Dean, you think I couldn't see Godstiel from a mile away? Of course I saw it coming. Stopping it was another matter entirely. I've been staying here following the little one because it's all I can do."

"Shove it up you-"

"I know what you did to bring Sam back. And don't you think for a second, that I condone it. Are you mad? Dean, what you did was incredibly stupid." Balthazar moved towards him. "Tell me, what did he want in return? Because, I doubt it was your first born child."

"Anyone would be lucky to have my offspring." Dean replied.

"Dean. What did he want?"

"Nothing that I won't be able to handle."

"Gabe's going to be ecstatic," Balthazar said quietly to himself. Looking at Dean, he crossed his arms. "We'll agree to disagree on that point I'm afraid."

"Fine by me. I got some questions for you and you damn well better answer me."

'I'm an open book."

"Do you still have your powers?"

"To a certain extent. I can teleport, move things with my mind. Unfortunately my time-travel are a little worse for wear, whilst I certainly can't re-sink the Titanic, I could probably prevent the GFC." He cocked an eyebrow. "Though, what you really want to know is, if I can heal. Sorry Dean, I'm not Castiel."

"Who's Kevin's real protector and where the hell was he when the kid lost his fingers?"

"Gabriel-"

"Christ-"

"-who sends his regards by the way, was otherwise occupied."

Head snapping up, Dean could have sworn that Balthazar said-

"That's right Dean, our dear archangel friend is playing hide and seek for a while."

"No! He died. He sent us a friggin' porno explaining how to open the cage. Lucifer killed him..."

"Lucifer killed an image of him. Gabriel was never with you in that motel. And before you ask, he was hanging out with me...there were just so many weapons, surely you don't think that I could carry them all by myself."

"I don't have the energy for this bullshit."

"Fine, let's get down to business. The tablet. Gabriel got bored and creative."

_Fucking Gabriel. _Dean swallowed thickly. "I don't get it."

"Did you really think that our Father trusted a lowly angel like Metatron to hold the keys to Heaven. Gabe's the messenger. He took Met's words to daddy, daddy hated them and then poor Gabe was locked in his room a millennia trying to write out a new set of rules."

"So I've been translating it right so far?" Kevin finally piped up.

Balthazar smirked at Kevin. "Yeah, don't let the first line put you off, Father was pissed, but the tablet was sound and accepted. After Metatron's version was rejected he disappeared. Though we tease Gabriel, he does have a good head on his shoulder so to say...and he does care, quite an awful lot about you lot here on earth. He didn't want to be responsible for anything that went wrong if someone conducted these trials. He wrote them and demanded that he alone would carry whatever burden that sorry piece of stone would bring. Metatron doesn't know about Gabriel or I. Castiel only has his memories because he came out of the angelic conveyor belt with a couple of extra parts - leftovers from when Father created you lot."

"I'm going to kill him."

"So that about covers it." Ignoring Dean, Balthazar shot Kevin a look." Now I'm heading off. Kevin, I'll be keeping an eye on you, and if I may make a simple request. Ease up on the coffee - I can sense heart palpitations from miles away. You're practically beating out a military tattoo."

"Wait!" Dean yelled, but the space in front of the closet was empty.

Kevin look at him. "Dean…"

"I...I have to see Sam."

With his mind still reeling from Balthazar who was dead-but-not-really-and-wasn't-angel/human/ghost-b ut-possible-all-three-together, and c'mon, if that wasn't enough to fuck with his mind, nothing would be, Dean walked into Sam's rooms.

Charlie moved from the chair next to Sam's bed, smiling nervously. He spared her a glance.

"Hey Sammy? Can you hear me kiddo?" Pale but breathing, Sam made no indication that he'd heard Dean's shaky voice. "Sam? C'mon, let's get some hustle."

From the end of Sam's bed, Charlie rocked on her heels beginning to look distressed. "I swear he woke up and asked for you...well, he was groggy so it sorta sounded like '_ngh'_ but I'm pretty sure he meant Dean…"

He tuned out her rambling placing a hand on Sam's chest. "Let's go little brother. I need you to wake up for me."

Charlie's voice cracked slightly. "I'm sorry-"

He waved away the apology. "It's okay, _your highness_. Wait outside." She calmed at the nickname and walked out. Hearing the door close behind him, he turned and faced Sam. "Alright, sorry if this hurts, but I hope you stay sleepy for just a bit longer 'kay?"

Taking in a deep breath he placed his left hand over Sam's heart and concentrated allowing the feel of energy bleeding out through his fingertips and into Sam's body as he had done the night before.

"Just like last night little brother. You'll be right in no time. I think I'm getting the hang of this-" His hand lifted a little, watching as Sam let out a tiny whimper. "Shh...you're doing good Sammy, I'm so proud of you. Strongest kid I know." He let his other hand tangle in Sam's moist hair. The whimpers quieted. "Few minutes more, shh... that's it…"

**..  
**

Standing just outside and fighting the desire to run, Charlie let out a gasp.

From beneath the door, bright blue light seeped across the floor.

* * *

AN: Thank you for reading. I really appreciate it...I hope you stick with the story :) Any issues/questions just ask - I promise I don't bite :)


End file.
